


Wicked Grace

by rachel_noelle



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel_noelle/pseuds/rachel_noelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle of Kirkwall, Hawke and her companions have settled into a new routine. She has been crowned Viscount, and together with other faction leaders is seeking to restructure the way mages are trained and looked upon. Isabela suggests changing the rules one evening when the group is gathered for their weekly meeting to drink and play Wicked Grace. The risque dares soon get to be over-the-top, and push a few people past their breaking points. Romance, humor, and good times are had by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - A Night Like Any Other

**_A/N:_ ** _I am taking some poetic liberties with the nature of the game Wicked Grace, as in DA:O it appears to be a two-player game, rather than a group game. Do please forgive me. I imagine it played similarly to Rummy. This first chapter is set about 8 months after the battle of Kirkwall. Enough time to kind of get into a new rhythm. And this will be non-canon, but not necessarily AU._

_Thank you for reading. I am humbled by the fact that you chose to read this, and will revere any comment and con-crit as being as holy and valuable as the ashes of Andraste herself.  
-Rachel Noelle _

**oOoOo—RN—oOoOo**

“Watch what you say, Rivaini,” Varric cautioned. “You go making dares like that and there’s no telling who you’ll piss off.”

Isabela shrugged. “What do I care who gets their feathers rumpled? Everyone here wants to have sex with Hawke. Except maybe Aveline. So what’s a kiss?”

Varric chuckled deeply. Aveline looked torn between agreeing with Isabela and looking hurt at her comment. She settled for agreeing, explaining, “Not that Hawke isn’t a lovely woman, but I am already spoken for, and I don’t think Donnic would appreciate my dallying with another. Even if it is only a kiss.”

Hawke laughed pleasantly. “That is perfectly understandable, Aveline.”

There was a brief silence as everyone sat in anticipation. “Well, then, sweetness, you can start with me!” Isabela chirruped. She leaned forward, leaning her elbows on the table and giving a gratuitous view of her cleavage. She winked flirtatiously. “The time limit is the duration of one hand of Wicked Grace.”

“So Hawke has to kiss everyone at the table?” Merrill asked, torn between hopefulness and anxiety.

“Everyone. Even Varric. And she has to start with me,” Isabela clarified with a wink.

“Oh, but I don’t want to make Bianca jealous,” Hawke said, her flirtatiousness directed toward the dwarf.

Varric sat at the head of his table, Isabela and Hawke to either side. Taking the bait, he leaned closer to Hawke, mimicking Isabela’s earlier pose, only with chest hair rather than breasts, and said huskily, “Oh, I think she can forgive me this one time.”

Hawke felt her heart skip a beat when his rich tones reached her ears, his dark honey eyes glinting mischievously.

“Wait your turn,” Isabela cut in, “I get to go first. Since you’re sitting there, I think you can go last. Then whoever kisses best gets another go. And I want to hear an honest critique of everyone,” she laughed pleasantly, her voice seductive and lilting.

Hawke rolled her eyes and hung her head. She didn’t mind kissing anyone at the table, and she did find it briefly odd that there was no arguing or declination from Fenris, Anders, or Sebastian, but Isabela… The pirate vixen scared her as much as Hawke found her attractive. With a little more encouragement from Isabela, Hawke stood and leaned across the table.

Isabela wasted no time locking lips with her fellow rogue, her extensive practice impressing Hawke. The kiss was sultry and passionate, but sweet and soft. Isabela tasted like the piss they called ale, offset by a light mix of sugar and citrus. After a few long minutes, a deep voice cleared its throat.

“I think that’s about enough, Rivaini. Hand’s over; you don’t want to make everyone else here jealous, do you?” Varric quipped, a serious undertone to his otherwise amused voice.

Isabela pulled away from Hawke. “Wow, Hawke, you _are_ amazing. We should put that tongue of yours to good use in the bedroom sometime,” she winked. Hawke rolled her eyes as she laughed.

“You are definitely a skilled rogue,” Hawke conceded, trying not to entice the pirate vixen any more than necessary – she preferred her suitors to be of the male persuasion – but, credit where it was due. “But, I imagine that mouth of yours has more experience than mine could ever hope to compete with.” Isabela laughed lightly.

Fenris sat next to Isabela, his enrapture at the two women kissing broken when Isabela elbowed him, declaring him next. His cheeks and tips of his ears turned pink, betraying his desire to kiss the woman. Deciding that it would be easier to accomplish her task by sitting in his lap, she moved to the other side of the table and plopped herself down. Fenris stiffened and hesitated, not certain about anything which was about to happen, but cautiously wrapped his arms about her waist to support her no less.

Hawke ran a hand through his hair and lightly dragged a finger along one ear. He shivered involuntarily, and Hawke met his lips with hers. Fenris was cautious, and she knew relatively inexperienced, but definitely a quick study as he matched the movements of her mouth easily with his own. She let her tongue pass his lips and he gasped in surprise. The taste of the Aggregio he favored lingered on his lips, and he smelled nicely of the woods after a rain.

Isabela was all too eager to break them up at the conclusion of the next round, desperately trying to get another kiss for herself, and allowed Fenris no longer than she had been given. “So, Sweetness, how was it?” she asked Hawke pointedly.

Hawke leaned away from Fenris, studying his face. “Smooth, sweet, and seductive. Very enticing,” Hawke purred, Fenris blushing again.

Aveline sat on Fenris’ other side. “Feel free to skip me, Hawke,” she chuckled.

“Oh, nonsense, Aveline. How about a nice kiss on the cheek?” Hawke suggested a compromise.

“Well, I suppose Donnic can’t complain about that, then,” Aveline allowed. She and Hawke placed a quick kiss on one another’s cheeks, Hawke still sitting on Fenris’ lap.

“Short and sweet. Good way to give a boring speech,” Hawke laughed.

Maybe the weekly gathering of everyone drinking and playing Wicked Grace was a bad idea, but it was interesting. It always seemed to end up with Hawke in some kind of situation like this. She glanced back at Isabela, and the look on the pirate’s face told her she best keep going. Hawke sighed. Three down, five to go, since someone would get two kisses.

They had changed the rules of Wicked Grace for the evening (something Hawke suspected was spurred by Isabela’s desire to bed her), and the player with the worst losing hand had to accept whatever dare the person with the winning hand gave them. So far it had been generally foolish things, like singing old nursery rhymes or dancing a jig. But she knew the moment Isabela suggested the change in stakes that something like this would happen.

Until the present situation arose, Varric had been winning.

Merrill sat at the foot of the table, now looking very nervous. Merrill admired Hawke, and understood why others found her attractive and so compelling, but she was unsure if she herself was actually attracted to the leader of the merry band of misfits, or if she felt right about kissing Hawke.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Merrill said quietly as Hawke vacated Fenris’ lap and moved about the table.

“Don’t worry, Kitten,” Isabela assured her, “Hawke is a wonderful kisser. She’ll be nice to you.”

“Merrill, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Aveline suggested. “You could always go for a pleasant kiss on the cheek.”

“I- I think I might prefer that,” Merrill agreed.

Hawke shrugged. “Your choice,” she agreed, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Merrill’s lips. She lingered for a moment, no tongue or movement, just a sweet gesture. Hawke pulled away from Merrill and smiled. “Sweet. Like kissing a ray of sun or a dewdrop,” she assessed.

Merrill blushed deeply. “Thank you, Hawke.”

“Great, now we can deal another round, and you can deflower Choir-boy,” Varric smirked.

“I, um, think I should like to opt out of this as well,” Sebastian said nervously from his seat at the end of the table, between Anders and Merrill.

“Oh, no, Choir-boy,” Varric butted in, “You’ve already hung around too long. The gentlemen all have to fully participate.” Varric laughed, a deep rich timbre rolling off his tongue.

“I knew I should have stayed in the Chantry this evening,” Sebastian sighed.

Just for fun, and because she loved nothing more than making Sebastian turn red with embarrassment, Hawke straddled him, forcing him to support her with his hands around her waist, resting on the small of her back. Hawke gently placed a finger under his chin, lifting his face. She closed her eyes and leaned her head down, meeting his lips softly.

Sebastian’s lips moved with Hawke’s, and he took advantage of the parting of her lips, his tongue darting into her mouth. Hawke gave a small squeak of surprise before returning the favor. His hands moved up her back, one making it into her hair and tugging gently, causing Hawke to moan softly.

“Looks like Choir-boy probably knows how to kiss,” Varric spoke, letting out a low whistle and a chuckle as the two in question began to get a little handsy. “I think you might lose this round, Rivaini.”

Aveline laughed, playing some of her cards and drawing new. “I think you two might want to save that for later. There are a couple of people over here getting quite jealous, from the looks of it.”

When Anders and Isabela declared the round over, Hawke pulled back from Sebastian, tugging on his lower lip with her teeth as she did. They were both flushed from their short aerobic workout, and she grinned wickedly. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me like that,” she teased.

Sebastian blushed deeper still, muttering, “I think I need to go pray. A lot.”

Hawke laughed as she removed herself from him. “That was the hottest kiss I’ve had in a long time,” she stated, winking at the Chantry brother. “I’d slay an archdemon if I got a kiss like that every day.”

“I guess he’ll just have to join us in my room, then,” Isabela suggested, her eyes glinting. “Since we all know I’m best at this.”

“Relax, Rivaini,” Varric chided jokingly, “She just likes getting him riled up. But I did get some new material for my next book, The Chantry Prince and the Noble Submission.”

Anders was next, and almost as eager as Isabela to kiss Hawke. He pulled her down into his lap, Hawke giggling as he did, and swiftly took the reins. His kiss was much like Sebastian’s, hot and intense, but with a milder feeling of lust. Rather, he kissed Hawke with a slower pace and less urgency, savoring her taste and her touch. There were hands wandering slowly, and Hawke released the tie of his ponytail to lace her fingers in his blond hair. He tasted like he smelled, of herbs and healing tonic. And a faint taste of something else she suspected was lyrium, as Fenris had had the same mysterious flavor.

Varric tried to let on like he was in no hurry, and even kicked Isabela in the shin when he noticed her ready to break apart the duo. “Round’s not over yet, Rivaini.”

Isabela sighed. “Oh, fine.”

After about five minutes of noisy kissing, and Sebastian whispering a quiet prayer beside them, Anders and Hawke pulled back from each other. “You are simply amazing, Hawke,” Anders said, smiling. His lips were red from the kissing, and he licked them suggestively as he continued, “We should do this more often.”

Another laugh passed Hawke’s lips. “Perhaps. That might even have been better than Sebastian,” she announced, winking at Anders.

“I learned more than just how to kill darkspawn in the Wardens…” Anders supplied, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Oooh, Varric, your turn,” Isabela quipped, batting her long lashes at Varric. “Hawke, you’ll have to describe this in great detail, since you’re the first of us he’s ever agreed to kiss.”

“That you know of,” Varric chuckled.

Hawke was nervous now. The thought of kissing the dwarf, as well as the things that often came after the kissing, had crossed her mind far more than was probably polite. She hesitated, thinking of the potential consequences.

Varric noticed her hesitation and reached out and took her hand. “I am honored to be sharing my first kiss with a human with you, Beautiful,” he whispered suavely. His eyes met Hawke’s as he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Hawke giggled briefly before she found herself planted on his lap.

“Well, you _are_ a Paragon of Manliness, so I am quite honored to be engaging in this experience with you,” Hawke flirted back, rubbing a hand through his chest hair. Deciding it was now or never, she wrapped one lithe arm around Varric’s neck to pull him closer, automatically entangling her fingers in his hair and pressed her lips to his.

One hand went to her back, rubbing lazy circles, and the other to her ass, grabbing it firmly and playfully, keeping her steady when she turned to get a better vantage point. His stubble brushed her chin and lips as he moved to kiss her jawline, and Hawke moaned softly.

“Oh, Varric,” she sighed. Varric chuckled darkly then lightly bit an earlobe.

He might have been a little out of practice, but old habits die hard. He peeked an eye open to see Isabela glaring hot daggers at him and made a rude gesture in her direction before returning his lips to Hawke’s.

Despite having intimately kissed half the people at the table already, Hawke tasted sweet, no trace of the ale of Rivaini, or lyrium from Blondie or Broody, or the purity of Choir-boy lingering. Isabela was getting antsy, her foot tapping the floor furiously beneath the table. “You’re the one,” Varric began between kisses now peppering Hawke’s neck, Hawke moaning softly between his statements, “who declared… the time limits…”

“I did, didn’t I?” Isabela replied. “Oh, well, this is pretty hot, too. Can I join in?”

Varric removed his mouth from Hawke’s only briefly enough to give a stern, “No.”

“Oh, fine…” she huffed. She turned to Fenris, who looked for a moment like a cornered animal, “Why don’t we do what they’re doing?” she suggested.

Varric lost himself in Hawke’s kiss, and forgot to care what Fenris replied. When Hawke thought she had probably spent longer kissing Varric than the others altogether she pulled away from the dwarf, his reluctance obvious when he sucked on her bottom lip as she moved back. Her lips were very red and swollen, and he found himself desperately wanting to kiss them again.

“I don’t know, Hawke, Bianca may not ever forgive me for that,” Varric grinned, his eyes dark with desire.

Hawke’s laughter filled the small room with a melodic sound. “That was absolutely amazing, Varric. And to think your first kiss with a human was with me. I’m touched,” Hawke cried dramatically, her hand over her heart. She noticed Varric still had his hand on her ass, and she found herself becoming aroused when he gave another squeeze. “A performance like that definitely deserves an encore.”

“Damn,” Anders sighed heavily, “I guess that settles that, though. Oh, well. Can’t win against a dwarf like Varric.”

“Can’t even compete,” Varric bemusedly agreed.

Hawke leaned down to comply with the last portion of the dare: a second kiss to whoever she deemed the best. Varric caught her face in one hand, whispering in her ear, “Why don’t you save that until everyone else is gone?”

Hawke felt a pleased shiver run down her spine. She nodded curtly to the dwarf, agreeing, the dark glint of desire in her own eyes.

“Alright, Blondie, deal us another round,” Varric declared. Hawke turned on Varric’s lap, making a small motion to move back to her own seat. The hand that previously rested on her ass, now firmly on her hip, pulled her back. She gave a noncommittal shrug and stayed put, reclining languidly across his lap. “I think that as my reward, you should have to stay right where you are for the rest of the night,” he told her, winking lasciviously at her. Hawke laughed prettily in response.

Sebastian lost the next round famously, and by some miracle of faith, Hawke won. She contemplated for a moment what her dare should be. She really was not very good at coming up with these sort of things. Isabela leaned over and whispered something only she and Varric could hear, causing the three of them to laugh wickedly.

“That sounds like a splendid idea, Isabela,” Hawke agreed. “Sebastian really does need to loosen up some.”

“Oh, Maker,” Sebastian worried, his accent thick and alluring despite his nerves. “I need to leave.”

“Oh-ho, no you don’t, Choir-boy,” Varric warned, “We all wanna see this.”

Sebastian swallowed nervously. “Very well. What would you have me do, Hawke?”

“There is a ravishing young man sitting next to you who also needs a kiss. I want to see some passion. Some tongue,” she winked.

“Hawke, I cannot do that!” Sebastian exclaimed, his eyes wide and his face flushed.

“Why not? Anders is excellent. Not as good as Varric, but damn close. I’d say you’re equally matched,” Hawke countered.

“Those are the rules of the game, Sweetness,” Isabela confirmed, “You agreed to play by them when you bought in to the last hand.”

Sebastian hung his head again. “Maker, forgive me,” he said quietly.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Anders asked, tired of being ignored.

“Sure. But it doesn’t count,” Isabela replied.

“Oh, and there is a time limit. At least five minutes,” Hawke added, a suggestion of Varric’s.

Both Anders and Sebastian paled. “We’re waiting,” Isabela sing-songed.

Anders growled, wishing to get the torture over with, and roughly grabbed Sebastian’s face in his hands. “You better hope we enjoy this, wench,” he told Isabela coldly.

“Oh, Anders, you’re doing this for me,” Hawke reminded him, playfully pleading with the mage.

“I suppose so…” he agreed reluctantly, then pressed his lips against the Chantry brother’s. The rest of the group sat captivated by the two men, some suppressing sniggers, others trying not to squeal with delight.

“Oh, that is so hot,” Isabela declared softly, her voice sensual and full of lust.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed by the both of them,” Hawke said.

Merrill sat up in her chair and leaned forward, observing them closely. “Is it always this intense?”

“Kissing?” Aveline asked. Merrill nodded. “Not always, no.”

“That depends on the nature of the kiss, Kitten,” Isabela stated. “If you’re just saying ‘hello’ then a quick peck on the lips or the cheek is all you need. But, if you want to get someone to take their clothes off, this usually helps,” Isabela pointed a thumb toward Sebastian and Anders, smiling cattily.

“Why would they want to take their clothes off?” Merrill asked innocently.

Hawke, Varric, Aveline, and Isabella all laughed.

“To have sex, Daisy,” Varric told the elf. Merrill flushed a deep shade of red and her mouth formed an “oh.”

“I’ll let you practice on me sometime,” Isabela winked, adding to the elven mage’s embarrassment.

Merrill stuttered unintelligibly before Hawke rescued her. “It’s okay, Merrill. You’ll find someone appropriate when the time is right. And if it happens to be Isabela, then so be it. But she’s just teasing right now.”

“Oh. I see,” Merrill replied, her tone sounding both relieved and disappointed.

“Wow, it’s been almost eight minutes, and they’re still going at it,” Varric observed.

Anders now had a hand in Sebastian’s hair, tugging it and receiving pleased moans from the other man in response. Sebastian put his arms around Anders, pulling the mage closer. Within moments Anders was practically sitting in Sebastian’s lap, both humming in excitement.

“Oh, I want in on this next,” Isabela declared, barely refraining from touching herself or the “lucky” elf sitting beside her.

“Is somebody gonna break them up? I’m ready for the next hand. We’ve played two already,” Varric said, laughing.

“Oh, all right. I will,” Hawke reluctantly agreed. “Boys,” she called to the two males, “it’s been fifteen minutes. You can pick this up later. The rest of us want to play some cards.”

Anders and Sebastian separated as though a fire were lit between them, panting heavily and blushing profusely, but both with small grins playing at their lips. A few hands more passed, Varric winning them all. He made the losers useful, buying drinks or food, or paying him coin.

Sebastian bought in a final time, and when it looked like Isabela would be the sure winner, he tossed his cards on the table, standing quickly, and declaring, “I cannot do this anymore. May the Maker forgive me. I am returning to the Chantry, should anyone need me.” He beat a hasty retreat.

“Spoilsport,” Isabela huffed, crossing her arms beneath her chest as he exited Varric’s suite.

Anders waited only long enough for the next round to begin before bowing out himself, stating he was tired and needed to rest before opening his clinic the next morning.

“Tell Sebastian we’re sorry to see he left so soon,” Hawke called behind the blond mage as he left. The reddening of his ears confirmed her suspicions.

Aveline sighed. “Although I’m home alone tonight with nothing nearly as exciting as that waiting for me, I am tired. I think I’ll retire as well. It was fun playing with you all,” she told the others, standing to stretch.

“Goodnight, Aveline,” Hawke called from her position, still sitting in Varric’s lap. She exchanged a friendly wave with the guard captain.

“Come on, Kitten, I’ll walk you home,” Isabela suggested as she, too, stood to stretch.

“Thank you so much, Isabela,” Merrill replied, looking pleased as punch.

“Care to join us, Fenris?” Isabela asked the elf with a wink and the slightest nod of her head at the dwarf and his companion.

“I- um, very well,” he replied, moderately flustered. He let himself be led away by the pirate vixen, surprising Isabela as well as Hawke and Varric, and with their departure only Hawke and Varric remained in the palatial suite.

Hawke stood to stretch her limbs, yawning. “I think it’s time I headed to my own home,” she stated, her eyes shining with the mild sadness her voice belied. She turned away from the dwarf and took a few paces toward the door before pausing and turning to face him once more.

Varric cast her a charming smile. “You know, you can’t leave yet. You still owe me that second kiss,” he laughed, winking at her.

Hawke laughed with him. “I suppose I do. Who knew Varric, merchant prince of House Tethras, could kiss so well? And with a human, no less?”

Varric shrugged with nonchalance. “I’m just glad Bianca didn’t have to see that. She is the jealous type, you know.”

“I know. Think she’ll ever forgive me?” Hawke asked playfully, slowly walking back toward where Varric still sat in his chair.

“I think she’s taken a bit of a shine to you,” Varric said, gesturing his hands dismissively. “She might even be okay to share me with someone like you.”

Hawke now stood in front of Varric, gazing down at him with that dark desire in her eyes. As before, she quickly found herself being pulled into Varric’s lap, giggling when she landed. He wrapped his arms around her tightly for support, enjoying the roundness of her firm bum under his hand. He gave a light squeeze and she squealed, thumping him good naturedly on the chest.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “By my count, you’ve had your ass grabbed no less than seven hundred forty-two times in the Hanged Man alone. And that doesn’t even begin to consider the times in the market in Hightown, or the fancy noble parties you go to now. Oh, and that one bandit we took out last month. He really got a little too ballsy.”

Hawke laughed heartily. “So that’s why your arrow landed there… I can’t believe you’ve been keeping count of the number of times someone has grabbed my ass. I’m beginning to think you might be jealous,” she suggested, waggling an eyebrow suggestively.

“Me? Jealous? Nah,” Varric replied, his tone casual.

“That does explain why you threatened to break Anders’ staff. And I’m sure you didn’t mean the one he uses for magic,” Hawke replied sardonically, leveling her gaze with the dwarf.

Varric’s ears colored lightly with embarrassment. “You heard that, huh?” he asked bashfully.

“Kind of hard to miss the murderous intent radiating off of you tonight,” Hawke returned. She ran her fingers over Varric’s chest, absently playing with the soft golden hairs.

“I’m sorry, Hawke,” Varric began quietly. “It’s not my place to judge or to care what you do, or who you do it with.”

“No,” she agreed simply, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my lover being a bit possessive. It does a lady good to think her man wants her all to himself romantically.”

“Oh? So is that what I am now, your man?” Varric asked, his tone low and husky. He leaned closer to Hawke, whispering in her ear, “Is that what you want me to be?”

Hawke opted for a nonverbal reply, bringing her lips to meet his. Like the last kiss had been, this one was thrilling and passionate. Varric tasted her lips, their sweetness and distinct Hawke flavor addictive. His hand found her hair, tugging it gently, his thumb rubbing sensually at the nape of her neck. She moaned softly against his lips and he took advantage of the parting of her mouth to explore her with his tongue.

She ran her fingers over Varric’s exposed chest in slow, lazy circles. A hum of contentment passed his lips when she pushed his coat and tunic off his shoulders for her hands to explore. He took the hint and skillfully removed the offending clothing, breaking the kiss for the barest of moments to slip the tunic over his head.

“You, my lady,” Varric intoned between kisses, “are overdressed… and since fair is fair and all…”

Hawke sighed happily, moaning again when Varric slipped a hand beneath the hem of her shirt, caressing the soft skin of her sides and abdomen. They slowly, teasingly found their way to her breasts, where his fingers snuck under her breast band to grasp and tease the supple flesh. He unclasped the band and discarded it to the floor, quickly returning the hand to roll a nipple tauntingly between his thumb and forefinger. Hawke’s surprised gasp quickly turned into a satisfied moan.

Varric trailed a line of kisses down her neck as he lifted her top up over her breasts, holding it in place with one hand. Breaking their kisses he took one pert nipple into his mouth, suckling it lightly.

“Oh, Maker,” Hawke trilled.

Varric moved his mouth from the breast he was tormenting to grin and reply, “It’s Varric, Beautiful.”

“So it is,” Hawke replied lustfully, her breaths ragged and head spinning with want. “You’ve been holding out on me, Varric.”

Varric chuckled softly, intent on breaking Hawke’s resolve and applying the same generous treatment to the other nipple. He licked and suckled until it was hard, blowing softly over the pink flesh to be rewarded with another lustful sound from the woman in his lap. Needing a hand free, he tugged Hawke’s tunic over her head and discarded it with the other of their clothing on the floor.

“I think I’d like to save the more adventurous stuff for later,” Varric said, causing Hawke to look at him with confusion. “Tonight I really just want to make love to you on the bed, Beautiful.”

Hawke kept her fingers entwined in his golden tresses, releasing the leather band tying them back. Varric shifted her on his lap, meeting her lips again, then carried her to the bed in the room, gently laying her down and climbing atop her. His kisses moved downward, the stubble on his face grazing her skin lightly. She shivered with pleasure as he trailed his way down her chest, peppering kisses on her abdomen.

She continued making enticing noises, encouraging him to carry on. He untied the laces of her pants and slid them down over her hips with her smalls, to be cast onto the floor uncaringly. Varric sat back to drink in the sight of Hawke completely naked and prone before him. He let out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Maker’s breath, Hawke. You are truly a sight to behold. A Paragon of beauty in your own right,” he complimented. Hawke’s ears and cheeks pinkened.

“I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far,” Hawke retorted cheekily.

Varric moved himself between her legs, placing kisses on the inside of her thighs. “Mmm, Varric,” she moaned, her fingers finding his hair again. She let out a passionate cry when his head dipped down and he found her already wet sex with his mouth. The movements of his tongue brought her pleasure she had never known before, and she cried out loudly with her first climax.

“Oh, Maker, Varric,” Hawke panted, “I don’t care where you learned that, I just want it again.”

Varric chuckled darkly. “I think I can oblige. Anything for the fair lady.” His mouth met her sex again and she spread her legs further, giving him more room to fit between her. He accompanied his oral pleasure with a finger inside her, gently probing in all the right places. Her walls began to spasm again and she struggled to not let her orgasm get the better of her.

“Now, Hawke,” Varric said, his tongue lazily teasing the flesh around her clit, “Don’t hold back. I wanna hear you scream my name.”

“Oh, Varric!” she replied, her breath coming in short bursts now, “Oh, Varric, Varric, Varric…”

Oh, Maker, but was he hard. His manhood ached as it pressed against the tightness of his pants, any sudden movements against it causing his own moans of both pleasure and discomfort. Varric swirled his tongue against the sensitive nub of her clit and she came forcefully, loudly calling his name with her climax. He forced her to ride it out, his mouth sucking and tongue unrelenting, until she begged him to stop.

He relented and kissed his way back up her body until their lips met again. She could taste herself on his lips, and he moaned when she rubbed a hand firmly over his aching member. “Fair is fair, and all,” Hawke reminded him.

Varric obliged the demands of the lady beneath him and removed his trousers and smalls. Hawke stroked him slowly, tauntingly until he panted her name. She intended to return the favor of his pleasure and made to force him on his back but he stopped her.

“Oh, no. If you put that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock right now, I don’t think I could last a minute,” he explained throatily.

“Then fuck me, Varric. Don’t wait,” Hawke replied, her voice equally rough with desire and lust.

With her command Varric took her, easing into the motions slowly so he didn’t climax too soon. Hawke raised her hips to meet his thrusts. Varric kissed her wherever his lips landed, taking both nipples in his hands and tormenting them. Hawke’s moans became louder with each thrust of his hips. She slipped a hand between them and down to her sex to help her orgasm along.

“Maker’s breath, Hawke,” Varric panted, his climax building up. He bit her tauntingly and left a love mark on the underside of her left breast. A final thrust and a mutual cry of one another’s names brought their world crashing down. Varric was left seeing stars as he moved a few times more, spilling all of his seed into her.

The moment finally over, Varric rested on top of Hawke, his head pillowed on her breasts. When he regained breath and control of his limbs he pulled out of her and lay beside her on the bed.

“I have wanted to do that for far too long,” Varric rasped while their breathing slowly returned to normal. “Maker, but you are beautiful. And amazing.” Varric turned on his side to face Hawke then captured her lips in another kiss.

Hawke let her lips stray to his neck, sucking and nibbling, leaving a matching love bite for the world to see. She kissed Varric again, deeply and lovingly. She pulled away from him at length, smiling like a child at Christmas. (1)

“You know, Beautiful,” Varric said softly, cupping her face in his hands again, “I don’t believe you answered my question.”

Hawke’s face reflected her confusion. “What question?”

Varric cursed the blush now rising on his features, willing himself to just spit out what he was trying to say to the woman. “About, you know,” he said, wishing she would pick up on the hint. Hawke was either honestly unsure what he meant or torturing him to get him to say it himself. Varric growled when she gave no further indication that she knew what he meant. “I mean about being your man,” he finally said, turning his head away from her.

Now it was Hawke’s turn to blush. “Oh. That…” she said slowly. “Well, I have to admit I would kind of hope after _that_ performance you would say yes…”

“Beautiful, that’s all I needed to know,” Varric smiled at her again, “If you want me, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

**oOoOo—RN—oOoOo**

Notes:  
1 – Is there as Thedas equivalent of Christmas?


	2. Chapter 2

_This is set post DA2, with a completely non-canon ending. So far my ending says Anders didn’t blow up the chantry (though it is gone), but the war between the mages and Templars is raging. Hawke is viscount, and the only thing keeping the city from falling apart at the seams. She sided with the innocents, be they mage or Templar, and this chapter begins about a year after the battle of Kirkwall (around four months after the prologue)._

_Special thanks to my beta,[Enchant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchant/pseuds/Enchant), for her help with this!_

**oOoOo—RN—oOoOo**

Hawke was lying on a cot in Anders’ clinic, finally conscious and playfully arguing the mechanics of the recent battle with the group of slavers that had felled her. It must have been the straw that broke the camel’s back (an earlier battle not helping her stamina) or she was in the early stages of an illness, as the otherwise simple battle found her collapsing into a heap on the floor. Isabela and Merrill had accompanied her for this job, and Isabela had tipped Varric’s urchin heavily when he had gone and returned with the healer without being asked.

“Hawke, what happened? You were standing right beside me when all of a sudden you were lying on the floor. You gave me quite a fright,” Merrill asked her friend with concern.

Hawke smiled up at the elven mage, propping her hands behind her head for a small measure of additional comfort on the cot. “Oh, you know, I guess slaying that dragon last week finally caught up to me,” she chuckled.

“That was the weakest retort I’ve ever heard from you,” Isabela chided, patting her friend’s head soothingly.

“It was awful, wasn’t it?” Hawke agreed. “Maybe it’s the Antivan Bird Flu, Merrill; I hear it’s been going around.”

Anders chuckled as he approached the cot. “I don’t think it is anything so fanciful, but you are ill and you will need rest. I’m sure Isabela and Merrill don’t mind leaving you in my care for a bit. I want to check for more symptoms before I release you back to the hounds again,” he said, smiling benignly.

Isabela grudgingly took the hint, grousing about the healer and the fact that Hawke was a big girl and could choose her company. Anders rolled his eyes as the two women left, Merrill as clueless as always and Isabela declaring she would be getting compensation for the urchin’s tip.

After the others were safely out of earshot, Anders turned to face Hawke, a half smirk on his lips. “I’d ask when you planned to tell him, but I don’t think you even know yourself,” he began, setting Hawke’s nerves on edge.

“Tell who what? What don’t I know?” she asked nervously.

“Tell Varric that you are expecting,” Anders said simply, smiling openly now.

“Expecting what?” Hawke asked, still clueless. Anders wanted to smack her head. Hard. Either she was in denial or she really had not put the pieces together yet.

“Everyone’s favorite dwarf is going to be a father. You’re pregnant, Marian,” Anders elaborated, a hand on her shoulder intended to be soothing.

Hawke bolted upright, startling Anders badly with a short scream. “What?!”

Anders wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug as Hawke sobbed into his shoulder. “I knew something was wrong,” she said, her tears slowly becoming amusement, “I should have guessed this much…”

Anders held her tightly for a long moment, rubbing a hand on her back in soothing circles, offering her all the comfort he could. Hawke surprised him when she next spoke.

“How do you know it’s Varric’s? I mean, you’re right of course, but is there some way you can tell specifically who the father is?”

Anders shook his head. “Not normally, no. But the magical signature, or in this case severe lack thereof, matches our good friend and storyteller to a tee. And I only know that from healing him so often these last years. That and the fact that we all knew there was more to that winning kiss the night we played Wicked Grace with new rules,” Anders winked and flashed Hawke a wicked half smile.

Hawke grinned despite herself. The night which Anders spoke of was still fresh in her mind. Isabela was crazy and far too nosy for her own good sometimes, but she was also good at reading people. A few rounds of Wicked Grace, several drunken dares, and a round of kisses to make whores blush ensued, skillfully crafted by the hands of a pirate vixen who could sniff out sexual attraction like dogs smelled food. Isabela had accomplished what neither Hawke nor Varric could seem to do on their own. After a night of pleasure at the dwarf’s hands, Hawke swore she would never take another as long as he breathed.

“More than one relationship blossomed from that, apparently,” Hawke chortled, pointing a finger at the Vael crest Anders sported on his cloak.

“Sebastian is a very persuasive man. He even renounced his chastity vows. I was shocked same as everyone else,” Anders explained, smiling with a light blush decorating his face.

He contemplated a moment later, a bemused smile on his face and twinkle in his eye, “This explains why you nearly took the head off the Seneschal at the last meeting I attended with you and Cullen. Although Seneschal Bran was a complete ass that day, too, like he always is.” He and Hawke shared a laugh.

A comfortable silence fell over the room, during which Hawke began to reflect upon the options before her. A thought crossed her mind and she worriedly voiced it, struggling to keep the fear from her voice, “Do you think Varric will be happy about this? I don’t know what I’ll do if he isn’t. I know this is hardly a good time for children, but I don’t know that I could bear to lose him or the baby…” Hawke sighed sadly.

“Would you like me to go with you to tell him?” Anders asked. Hawke bit her lip hard before nodding.

“Maybe you could just stand guard downstairs, in case I need some support,” she suggested.

Anders agreed. “Let me get my assistants lined out with the other patients, who you miraculously didn’t disturb, and we can go now if you’re ready.”

Hawke sighed again, nerves setting her stomach uneasy, the bile threatening to rise in her throat. “Now is as good as ever, isn’t it?”

The trip to the Hanged Man was longer and more tiresome than Hawke ever remembered it being. She clutched Anders' hand tightly for support as they walked from Darktown.

“Hawke, you’re going to break my fingers if you don’t ease up,” Anders lamented as they crossed the threshold. “It’s going to be alright.”

Hawke eased her grip. “I know. I’m just nervous about telling Varric. I don’t know if he’ll be okay with this or not…”

“If it has to do with what I’m seeing being interpreted as it looks, then, no, I’m not going to be okay with this,” Varric said, crossing his arms in amusement, his eyes glinting with equal parts entertainment and concern.

“Oh, Varric,” Hawke greeted her dwarf with a kiss, “It certainly isn’t that. Did you really think I could be so cruel as to abandon my favorite dwarf?”

Varric laughed. “When you get technical, I’m your only dwarf.”

Hawke rolled her eyes playfully. “Spoilsport.”

“So, Beautiful, what’s going on? Why is Blondie here with you?” Varric asked, taking Hawke’s hand and leading her upstairs.

Anders and Hawke exchanged a look before Hawke let herself be led away.

“You should probably sit down, Varric,” Hawke suggested when they closed the door to his room.

Varric grinned characteristically, taking a seat in his favorite chair and pulling Hawke down with him. “I’m sitting. Does this have something to do with you passing out earlier?” he asked.

Hawke chuckled darkly. Of course he would have known; if not from his urchins, then from Isabela demanding compensation. “Sort of. Anders said it was the reason I passed out.”

Varric nodded contemplatively. “Is it the Antivan Bird Flu? Because as much as I love you, you’ll have to stay away. That shit’s highly contagious.”

Hawke laughed happily. “No, it isn’t that.” Then she hesitated.

“Hawke, you can tell me anything. Is everything alright?” Varric asked, his concern growing by the minute.

“That depends,” Hawke stated. At his questioning look she added, “It depends on you.”

“I’m waiting,” Varric told her, spreading his arms in an open gesture.

Hawke’s alarmed call of “Anders!” brought the mage bolting up the stairs into Varric’s suite in a panic. He had expected an exclamation from the dwarf and was ready to intervene should he suspect any undo violence or denial, but the scene that unfolded before him made it impossible not to laugh loudly.

“Anders, what do I do?” Hawke asked, her voice panicked. Varric was sprawled awkwardly on the floor of his suite, an obvious knot already forming on his head.

Thinking quickly, and to help calm Hawke, Anders replied, “Go get two ales from Corff. Tell him we want the good stuff.” Hawke disappeared out the door in a flash while Anders set to work rousing his new patient.

Varric began to come to and placed a hand on the back of his head, rubbing soothingly. Anders helped him to lie down and started with a simple healing spell to relieve the pain and swelling. “How did this even happen?” Varric muttered to himself.

“Well, Varric, when a mommy human and a daddy dwarf really love each other…” Anders began, smirking.

“Oh, shut up, you flying sack of nug shit,” Varric intoned crossly. “I know that. I just didn’t think…”

“No, you were thinking, just with the wrong head,” Hawke flirted.

“Better watch what you say. These kinds of jokes are what got us into this situation in the first place, Beautiful,” Varric told her, his silver tongue and quick wit slowly returning. “Not that I’m complaining, of course,” he shrugged. Hawke moved to sit by Varric on the bed, carrying the two mugs of ale. “Just wasn’t expecting that kind of news anytime soon.”

“Ah, look, ale’s here,” Anders said, taking one of the mugs from Hawke.

Varric sat up, pushing Anders’ arm out of the way as he did. “I’m okay, Blondie. Thanks for your help.”

He took the other mug of ale from Hawke, leaving her looking confused. “Where’s mine?” she asked.

Varric and Anders shared a laugh. “None for you, sorry,” Anders said apologetically, “You have precious cargo you’re carrying now, so no more alcohol.”

Hawke’s face fell and she laid back on the pillows in exasperation. Varric chuckled again and raised his mug. “A toast,” he declared, clinking mugs with Anders, “to the good news and a beautiful woman to share it with.” He and Anders drank deeply from their mugs in celebration.

There was some chatting between the three of them, Anders already preparing Hawke a schedule for visits and going over the dos and don’ts of maternity. The soothing sounds of her lover and a dear friend conversing lulled Hawke into a light sleep. She roused some time later to find Varric working at his table, papers scattered about with seeming abandon. Varric wore his spectacles, something Hawke found him to be incredibly attractive in, and was perusing what looked like a long list of supply requests.

“Did you enjoy your rest?” Varric asked causally, glancing up at his lover’s form as she sat upright.

Hawke smiled softly. “I did, thank you for asking, Ser Dwarf,” she replied, a faux air of pretentious noble saturating her voice.

Varric grinned. “This came for you while you were sleeping,” he said, holding out a rolled letter with the seal of the Viscount’s office stamped onto it.

Hawke groaned audibly. “Today is supposed to be my day off. That’s what the Seneschal is there for, isn’t it?” She grudgingly took the letter, frowning at Varric as he laughed at her displeasure, and rolled it open to read. Her brows furrowed in distaste.

“Let me guess,” Varric began, knowing the look on Hawke’s face well, “It’s another invitation to a snooty noble party with fine wine and stinky cheese, all in hopes of your favor in some endeavor some noble wants to undertake?”

Hawke barked a humorless laugh. “Isn’t it always?” she bemoaned. She sighed wearily. “If you’re not busy with Guild meetings Thursday evening, you can go with me. Otherwise I could ask Anders,” she said, trying to give her dwarven companion an out.

Varric chuckled. “I’m not the one who hates the noble parties. Free fancy food is fine by me any time at all. But if you want to have someone else escort you, be my guest. I trust you,” he told her, shrugging slightly.

Hawke feigned hurt, dramatically putting a hand over her heart with a flourish, “Ser Dwarf, you wound me! In my delicate condition, I cannot believe that you would dare entrust my wellbeing to another!”

Varric removed his spectacles, carefully resting them on the table, before pulling Hawke down into his lap and silencing her giggles with a kiss. “Okay, fine. You win. You know I hate these things as much as you do, but I’ll go,” he relented.

The next morning found Hawke at the large desk in the Viscount’s office, scribbling away at some missive or other, frowning to herself. She really hated working with the nobles some days. But, the promise of change on the horizon for the oppressed and altogether less fortunate was always enough to keep her going.

Even with the war raging, Kirkwall miraculously remained a safe haven for those trying to escape anything and everything. She got her wish of becoming Viscount, and together with Guard Captain Aveline, the new Knight-Commander Cullen, and now First Enchanter Bethany, they were struggling (and hopefully succeeding) to create balance in the city, and, by extension, the rest of Thedas. Hawke dreamed of creating a place where mages could be trained openly, without being ripped from their homes in early childhood. The gallows would become a school, not a prison. Already several had taken to the idea and volunteered their services.

“Viscount Hawke,” a disapproving voice spoke from the doorway, “There is a Cassandra Pentaghast to see you, at your leisure.”

Hawke’s head snapped up to stare at Seneschal Bran in shock. “Why is the Seeker here? I wasn’t expecting her for two weeks yet,” Hawke replied, panicking.

“She said only that it was a private matter, and she wishes to discuss it with you personally,” the Seneschal said, giving her a tightlipped smile. Hawke had yet to decide if it was his job or just her he hated so dearly. Until she had been in her position at least a full year, she could not appoint another person for the job. He might be an ass most days, but at least he did know what he was doing, and she figured she would let him stay on as long as he wished on those grounds alone.

“Very well,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead, “Send her in.”

Bran nodded once before departing. Hawke sat ungracefully in her chair, absently looking over the next ridiculous request in her paperwork when the door opened again.

“Lady Hawke,” Cassandra greeted politely, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Hawke stood to greet her visitor. “The same. How was your trip?” Hawke asked by way of conversation.

“Bearable,” Cassandra said, smiling slightly. “We did not encounter much trouble.”

Hawke suppressed a sigh. Apparently the Seeker was one for getting straight to the point, and not bullshitting around. Hawke mused about her meeting Varric, and how horrible and hilarious it might be. “That is good. So, what brings you here two weeks early?” Hawke asked. She indicated the chair opposite her own for Cassandra to sit.

The Seeker obliged and sat with much more grace and poise than Hawke usually bothered to muster. “I wish to discuss the matter of your school for mages, and the Chantry’s stance on it.”

Hawke knew her face betrayed her shock. It was not necessarily that she expected support from the Chantry, but the idea that the Divine might already have taken a vicious stance against the new age ideas she and others had already worked so hard to instill in Kirkwall pained her greatly. “I know the Chantry will not support my ideas,” Hawke began saying defensively, “but I intend to implement them anyway. There is nothing written in the Chant that specifically states that the only option for mages is to be locked away from childhood and guarded like criminals.”

Cassandra nodded, a small smile gracing her face. “Indeed, Ser Hawke, you are correct. And in light of the revolution which is playing upon our hands, the Divine would like to offer her support. Unofficially, of course. It is a very difficult thing you seek to do, changing the minds of all the nations of Thedas. It will not be a battle won overnight.”

Hawke could not resist her grin. “Seeker, are you serious? With her help, we could possibly make this work without any Exalted Marches or Rights of Annulment.”

“Indeed. I speak only the truth. There will, however, be certain stipulations,” Cassandra elaborated, this statement making Hawke frown. Of course it would never be as simple as just trusting someone else to do something right.

“What are these stipulations?” Hawke asked, wary.

“She wishes to station some… agents in Kirkwall to assist with the restructuring.” Cassandra looked pensively at Hawke, and Hawke wondered just what the Seeker thought of things.

“Just who are these agents?” Hawke asked, her tone guarded and unintentionally cross.

“Myself and Sister Nightingale. We are the Divine’s Right and Left hands, and she believes it only fitting we be involved. If your plan works in your favor, we will take the methods and ideas to elsewhere in Thedas on your behalf.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Hawke asked, knowing the answer would be unpleasant.

Cassandra sighed. “It must.” Her voice was pleading, but with Hawke, the Maker, or fate itself Hawke was not sure. Cassandra turned to face Hawke, her eyes resolute and hopeful. “If it does not, there will be action against Kirkwall, and all of the Circles will be destroyed, lost to the Right of Annulment. Mages will be killed when their skills are realized, not just whisked away from their mother’s skirts. Surely even something as horrible as imprisonment is not a fate worse than holocaust?”

“Let me guess,” Hawke returned, her expression foul, “This will also be the result if I don’t let her Holiness’ agents overtake my carefully laid plans?” Cassandra looked stricken and pale. “That’s what I feared,” Hawke lamented. “I will need time to discuss matters with my committee. Many of them will not take lightly to this idea.”

“I understand. That is why I wished to speak with you early, so that you may prepare your answer, and your terms, ahead of time,” the Seeker said, her eyes saddened. “I do not necessarily approve of her methods, but I wish even less to see this city fall.”

Hawke nodded contemplatively. “Very well. I will think on it. Is there anything else?”

“That is all, Champion,” Cassandra stated, nodding to Hawke as she stood to take her leave.

Hawke sighed. Feeling a need to offer her friendship – if she was going to be forced to work with her one way or another – she called to Cassandra before she crossed the threshold, “You should stop by the Hanged Man this evening. Plenty of booze, and always at least one good story to be heard.”

“Thank you,” the Seeker replied kindly, “Perhaps.” With that the door to the Viscount’s office closed with a heavy thud.

Hawke slumped back into her chair, sighing heavily.

**oOoOo**

“Varric!” Hawke called loudly as she made her way up the stairs to his suite. Why she could not seem to get him to leave the place and just move in with her she did not quite know, but she tried to not complain, as she saw the little tavern as a second home herself. She let herself into Varric’s suite without knocking, only to find it empty. Her brows knit together in confusion. Where was her dear dwarf?

She waited several minutes before deciding he must be at some meeting with the Merchant’s Guild, or out making sure his spy network and the urchins he kept hired were being duly compensated. Hawke scribbled a note for him to come to her estate and used the little dagger-shaped pin he had purchased for such an occasion to secure it to his table at the spot where he always sat.

Finding herself with ample time to kill, Hawke made her way to the Gallows, where Bethany spent her days. Her sister would want to be the first to know about the Divine’s proposition – or, more apropos, ultimatum – for them anyway. Bethany wanted as much as anyone to be able to turn the Circle into a place of education for mages and non-mages alike, to instill feelings of acceptance between both those born with magical power and those without. Especially between the Templars and Mages.

Hawke let herself into the Gallows, the Templars stationed there greeting her pleasantly. She slowly wound her way into the long hallway of offices to find no one around. Smiling to herself, and remembering Bethany’s love of afternoon reading, she backtracked and went the other way to the mages’ sleeping quarters. When she reached Bethany’s room, the only thing she thought could make the moment more perfect would be to have Varric standing at her side, adding his witty commentary to the present situation.

“Well, I see you two are making good progress on inspiring acceptance between mages and Templars,” she said, smirking as Bethany and Cullen started, moving apart hastily.

“This is not what it looks like, Sister,” Bethany assured her. The blush on the younger Hawke sister’s face said otherwise.

Hawke shrugged. “Who am I to judge? I’m with Varric. I think I can speak on neither character nor profession.” Her smile softened when Bethany smiled as well.

“I must ask you not to spread word of our… encounter around just yet,” Cullen said, looking like he knew the battle to already be lost.

“Oh, Cullen, she was going to find out eventually. I thought you were okay with this?” Bethany asked, looking hurt. Cullen looked properly chastised.

“I am, Beth. I only worry about her friend’s tongue, and the rumors that will spread,” he said concernedly.

“Don’t worry about Varric. I’ll just make him an offer he can’t refuse if I suspect him of talking you up or anything,” Hawke assured them, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Sister!” Bethany admonished, knowing the innuendo for what it was. Hawke laughed as both the mage and the Templar blushed again. “Cullen, may I have some time with my sister, alone?” Bethany asked softly.

Cullen dipped his head then placed a soft kiss on the mage’s lips before leaving.

“So how long has this been going on?” Hawke asked, very curious and insanely happy for the both of them.

“Only about a month. We’re both still so very new to this,” Bethany explained. “Though you’ve no doubt got some interesting details for Varric to use against me now, I suspect that is not the reason you came by.”

Hawke nodded in agreement. “Not quite. I was unaware of something this sinister going on. Even Varric couldn’t have seen this coming,” she smirked. After a brief pause, and taking a small pleasure in tormenting her younger sister even now, she continued, “The Seeker came to see me today. She said that the Divine wants to unofficially support our cause.”

“Oh?” was all Bethany could say.

Hawke smiled grimly. “She really didn’t leave me much option, it would seem. However, the Seeker did say she was giving me two weeks to draw up an agreement before our official meeting.”

“I suppose we should get started then,” Bethany replied, sighing softly as she took a seat in a lounge chair in the small suite. Hawke sat on the sofa, fighting the urge to splay out on it and take a nap. She yawned, which Bethany noted absently, before she and her sister launched into a lengthy discussion on the situation at hand.

Sometime later Hawke stood to stretch. It was nearing supper time, and she could smell the aroma of food faintly wafting down the hall. “Something smells delicious. I’ve had the weirdest craving for the mystery meat stew at the Hanged Man all day today…” she trailed off.

Bethany gave her sister a quizzical look. “Are you feeling well?” she asked, smiling teasingly.

“Yes, I’m feeling fine. Why do you ask?” Hawke replied.

Bethany shrugged. “I heard you gave Merrill and Isabela quite the scare yesterday. Even had Varric in a panic.”

“Oh, that…” Hawke grinned innocently. She debated on whether to share the news or not. She and Varric had not yet discussed the relaying of such information to their group of friends. She finally decided that she could trust Bethany to be quiet until such a time as they decided to make the news public and said, “Well, I do have good news. But it is for your ears only.”

Bethany’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Good news? What might that be? Are you getting married?”

Hawke laughed. “Not quite. You, however, are going to make a fine aunt in a few months’ time.”

Bethany squealed with delight and hugged her sister. “Oh, Marian, I am so happy for you! Is that why Varric was fretting so yesterday?”

It was Hawke’s turn to shrug. “Anders seems to think so. I _am_ easily tired of late. So, probably.”

“I should have known,” Bethany amusedly chastised herself, “You have been acting a bit strange the last few weeks. How far along are you?”

“About ten weeks, according to my last menses,” Hawke said, smiling all over again. “Bethany, I wish you would have been there when I told Varric. He scared me quite thoroughly when he fainted. Poor Anders came rushing upstairs with his staff ready for a paralysis spell, then nearly keeled over himself laughing so hard.”

Bethany giggled, imaging Varric’s reaction. “He is obviously quite excited, then?” Hawke nodded enthusiastically, and Bethany hugged her again. “I just wish Mother and Father and Carver were still here. Carver would be so excited, and can you imagine the smile on Mother’s face?”

Hawke returned Bethany’s sad smile, hugging her sister tighter still. “That would be lovely. But now isn’t the time for sadness. A new life is on the way.”

“I hope it’s a girl!” Bethany said excitedly, “Then I can dress her up in fancy gowns, and teach her to dance. This is so exciting!”

Hawke laughed. “I hope she has Varric’s hazel eyes and wry sense of humor,” she smiled brightly.

“Ooh! I hope she has pretty long hair, like yours. It looks so lovely when you let it grow out.”

“I don’t know,” Hawke shrugged, “Varric’s hair is so soft and silky…”

“What if it’s a boy?” Bethany asked.

Hawke bit her lip in concentration. “Hmm… I suppose I would love a son just as much as a daughter. I wonder if they’ll have magic, or if the natural dwarven resistance is just too much to overcome?”

Bethany’s eyes darkened. “I would only wish that on them if our plans succeed.”

The happy mood all but destroyed, Hawke searched for a lighter topic of discussion. “What do you think she’ll look like? Would she be short, like the dwarves, or taller, like humans?”

“Oh! Maybe she’ll be shorter than you, but taller than Varric.” Bethany’s smile returned and her eyes sparkled again.

The siblings fell back into excited chatter, Bethany thrilled with the thought of a little one coming into the world soon. Before Hawke took her leave, she reminded Bethany that there was a room at the estate with her name on the door whenever she wanted to come home. They hugged again and Hawke wound her way out of the Gallows, Templar Kerran escorting her across the waters to the docks.

Her pants were already beginning to feel too tight at the waist and hip, and she sighed heavily to herself. It would be all too soon that she would have to sheath her daggers for an unknown duration and rely on her friends for protection. Hawke’s new political position did nothing to put her mind at ease. She slipped through the door of the Hanged Man to find Varric sitting with most of the usual gang at a table near the bar, cheating his way through cards.

Hawke walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest appreciatively. “Welcome back, Hawke,” he intoned happily.

“I can’t believe you didn’t come beating down Bethany’s door,” Hawke smiled.

Varric shrugged with nonchalance. “Didn’t need to. I know you need to spend a little time with your sister. Sunshine isn’t spreading anymore terrible, pornographic stories to her apprentices again, is she?” he grinned, turning his head to face her.

“You know full well who slipped those _free_ copies into the library at the Circle,” Hawke playfully scolded. “With a book like _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_ , who else could have done something so atrocious?”

Varric laughed heartily. “Okay, I admit, I _might_ have given some free copies to some people…” Fenris was busy arguing with Isabela over her cheating hand, and Varric took advantage of their distraction to kiss Hawke without worry to his own defeat.

“Do you think you could tear yourself away from such a rousing game of Wicked Grace and such boisterous company for the evening?” Hawke asked playfully.

“Oh, but, Beautiful, I’m winning!” Varric teased.

Hawke’s eyes flashed with a look that spelled trouble for Varric. Sweet, delicious trouble. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince you to come to the estate with me.”

Varric promptly forgot what he was doing when Hawke’s lips met his. He dissolved into a silly, horny mess when she did things like this, and he could never resist her. She pulled away, leaving the dwarf with a goofy grin on his face. He stood, saying, “I fold. Sorry, guys. But Hawke and I have some very _pressing_ business to take care of.”

“I bet it’s a very _hard_ subject to discuss,” Isabela chimed in gleefully.

“It will take a while to _flesh_ things out,” Hawke smirked.

“Ooh, good one!” Isabela complimented. “You two lovebirds get on out of here before I have to drag you up to my room and give you a tongue lashing for being so dirty.” Isabela winked lewdly. Fenris faced her, his expression bewildered. “What?” she asked.

Fenris sighed heavily. “Enjoy your evening, Hawke, Varric. I will try to contain her… enthusiasm.”

Hawke laughed and rolled her eyes. Even Fenris, for all his smoldering good looks, could not tame the flirt in Isabela. She and Varric bid the group adieu then made the trek to Hightown. Hawke had Orana bring up a simple supper to her bedroom, which she and Varric happily dined on as they talked.

“So, what was it that was so important you needed to talk to me?” Varric asked, stuffing a roll in his mouth.

Hawke giggled at the sight of his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk before explaining her visit with the Seeker, and the need for Varric’s expertise in securing something of a treaty with the Chantry and the Divine. He promised Hawke all the help he could round up.

Orana returned after a time to clear the dishes. With the meal cleared, Hawke lay on the bed languidly.

“I told Bethany; she’s rather excited. Said she hopes we’ll have a girl,” she said, her wistful tone breaking the amicable silence that had stretched between them. Varric was lying with his ear pressed to her abdomen, like he was hoping to hear the baby kick or move. Hawke ran her fingers lovingly through his hair.

“I figured you would,” Varric said softly, a bemused look on his face. “I think you’d like having a daughter to teach your crafty ways.” Varric’s smile fell when he added, “I’m gonna have to bump up security big time. We’ll be beating boys off like dogs.”

Hawke laughed. “We didn’t exactly discuss when we were going to tell everyone, but I don’t always know when I’ll see Bethany next. Of course,” a grin crept onto her lips, making Varric raise an eyebrow in curious expectation, “I imagine I’ll be seeing as little of her as possible for a while.”

“Oh? Do tell. You know I love good gossip.”

Hawke playfully slapped Varric’s arm. “You’re such a rumormonger,” she paused to laugh.

“I do like a good story. Is it something I can use for _Wicked Circle: Rage of the Templar_?” he grinned.

Hawke could do no more than laugh for several long moments. “That’s what you’ve decided for the next one?” Varric winked. “I suppose so, but the exact details I will leave to your capable imagination. Just count on our dear friend Cullen being more involved.”

“Indeed? That will make for an interesting book. But right now, my imagination could use a little hands on practice,” Varric said, slowly moving up the bed, lying atop Hawke to kiss her. “Let me hear you scream my name, Beautiful,” he whispered before she succumbed to the pleasure of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_ ** _Hello again! Long time, no see! I’ll offer apologies, but the reason is the same as always – though I think many of you, especially those of you with families, careers, or just time-consuming extra-curricular activities – can relate: Life gets in the way. Far more than I could have imagined has happened in just a year. I’ve moved cities twice, houses three times, had my heart broken (and not just romance, my Papa passed away in February, making me a very sad granddaughter), completed my foster parent training, changed jobs a few times, and started back to college for nursing. So, yeah, it’s been something else this year. All I’m saying is that, yes, I know it’s been forever, and I’m sorry it has, but the reason is legitimate._

 _Now, without further ado, I present chapter two of this exciting story. Oh, and an incredibly great amount of thanks to my awesome beta-reader,[ **Enchant**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchant/pseuds/Enchant)! Go check out her fics when you finish here. You _ won’t _be disappointed!_

_Thanks for reading!!  
-Rachel Noelle_

**_P.S._ ** _I try to reply to all of my reviews, but I got lazy and missed several. If your review was one I missed, drop me a line so I can personally say thanks!_

**oOoOo—RN—oOoOo**

Anders sat dejectedly on a cot in his clinic, cradling his head in his hands. After the hustle and bustle of the long day he was exhausted. His assistant today, a pretty young redheaded Circle mage named Alice, was tending to the last patient, sending him home with a tonic before letting herself out. Anders thanked her before she bade him goodnight and took her leave. If he ever decided to retire from the healer business, he thought, he’d leave the clinic to her just because of her skilled hands and sweet personality.

Now that he had successfully been separated from Justice for almost a year and a half, and with his dear Sebastian attending to business in Starkhaven, the clinic was quiet and Anders was quite honestly bored. He absently thumbed the Vael crest pinned to his cloak as he let his mind wander.

It was only after the ritual to separate himself from Justice that Sebastian even began regarding the mage as a complete human. And, only a few months before, a fateful dare from Hawke, Isabela, and Varric had landed them in this position. But even with all the good in his life now, he sometimes missed the aggravating spirit.

The ritual to separate him from the spirit was grueling and excruciating. The research and the number of broken laws it took to find the research was just as terrible. But the premise of the ritual was simple: draw some runes, make a potion, drink it, come within two inches of your death, and then be free. The only thing that deterred Anders at all was the dismal survival rate of just one mage: him.

Perhaps it had been because the Tevinter magisters sought to remove demons, instead of spirits, or maybe it was because Justice longed for his freedom as much as he, but it had worked. Though now Anders understood all too clearly the reason for such a low survival rate. If the pain – searing and scorching like being burned alive from the inside out – wasn’t enough, then the amalgamation of voices screaming to be heard over one another would be plenty to drive anyone to suicide.

It was an incident where Justice took over that finally broke him. He was targeting a young circle mage who simply wanted to return to safety. Thank the Maker Hawke had been there with him. Expecting Blood Mages to be behind the disappearances, she tipped her daggers with Magebane, a non-lethal poison designed to drain mana stores. Not wanting to lethally harm her friend, she swiped his arm with the poisoned dagger just in time to block him from harming the young woman. As Hawke stood between the two, the Magebane took immediate effect and, perhaps because it was Hawke’s special blend, blocked his magic and his connection to Justice completely.

Anders broke down into horrible sobs, wailing as he ran away from the scene. The effect lasted only about an hour, but it was the most wonderful hour in Anders’ recent history. His mind was his own and his thoughts were not invaded by a long unwelcome guest. The reintroduction of Justice into his mind nearly drove him over the brink of sanity. He found himself nearly beating down Hawke’s door in the wee hours of the night, begging her to touch her dagger to him again. After two hours she relented and offered him a vial of the poison. “Please be careful,” she told him, worry evident on her face.

“I will,” he replied, hoping he wasn’t lying to her again.

When he used the second vial of Magebane he finally decided he could take no more of the spirit constantly driving him to put his friends’ well-being aside for “Justice!” He broke down and asked Hawke to help him seek out the ingredients for the potion. She agreed so readily and happily he felt guilty for even asking. “Anything for a friend,” she had answered brightly. He told her what the concoction was for, at least in the most simplified definition, and felt guiltier still when she as happily agreed to help him hunt down several very dangerous ingredients. He neglected, however, to tell her that there was no chance he would survive, and that he would be undertaking the ritual alone, locked into the cellar beneath the clinic.

The hunt for the dragon’s liver was almost the end of Hawke, and many of their companions shot glares toward him for a few days after the battle. Hawke, ever courageous and unable to say “no” to a friend, dove under the high dragon to deflect a hit to Merrill just as the beast’s foot fell down upon her. Even reflecting on the memory now made Anders pale and sick to his stomach, recalling the sickening crunch her breaking bones made beneath the dragon’s weight. It was a memory Anders did not take lightly. He shook his head to clear the miserable thoughts.

Anders gave Hawke a vague timeline of when he planned to conduct the ritual. It involved several days of preparation, mixing the potion and letting it set for nearly three weeks being the simplest step. “Between four and six weeks is what the spell reads,” he told Hawke and Varric, who seemed to never leave her side even then.

“Alright, Blondie, but you better let us know when you start this for real. I don’t like having to worry about people like you from a distance, you know,” Varric told him, the usual twinkle all but gone from his eyes, replaced with concern for the mage.

“Of course,” Anders lied. He tried not to swallow audibly. He was a terrible liar, and always had been, especially when beautiful women and terrifying dwarves were involved.

“Please, Anders?” Hawke added. “Even Fenris worries about you. He’ll never admit it, but he does.”

Anders mustered up every ounce of energy to pull off a remotely honest expression and thank them for their concern before shooing them out of the clinic.

The next day, he told Lirene to let everyone know that he would be away on business for a few days, and unable to open the clinic. He had no assistants at the time, and he felt a bit guilty about having to close, but it would be one less thing to worry about. Anders made sure that no one could disturb him (telling Hawke that he was going to Sundermount to look for herbs) and locked himself up with no weapons or magical artifacts nearby. He inscribed the last of the runes in a circle on the floor and sat in the middle before he drank the potion.

At first he almost laughed to himself. The potion was pleasant, tasting of mint and elfroot, and he briefly thought the reports had been horribly exaggerated. Until an instant later when he collapsed onto the floor with the pain. Justice began screaming wildly in his head, and he could only just hear himself doing the same when the voices began. He futilely placed his hands over his ears, trying to stop all the screams.

When he was on the brink of certain destruction, the last shreds of his sanity just out of reach, he lost consciousness. He found himself in some version of the fade, filled with rolling green hills and flowers that freckled the earth. He could smell the fresh air, hear the birds chirp, and feel the soft grass beneath his feet. He just knew he was dead. But it was a pleasant place to be, if that was the case, so he made no effort to leave.

Sometime later it began to rain, a hard, heavy rain, with booming thunder. He saw no lightening, but it didn’t matter, he was dead.

Until he wasn’t.

Anders came to with a start, convulsing violently. In his confusion he made to attack Hawke, a few well-placed bolts from Bianca being the only thing to restrain him. When he settled and the bolts were removed, Hawke clutched to him for dear life, begging and pleading with him to stay alive. If he ever thought refusing her advances was enough to have killed him, now he certainly wished he would have died.

Varric stood with her, a hand on her shoulder as she cried, worried for her friend. Beneath his worry, the expression on the dwarf’s face bore more hatred and resentment than Anders had ever seen him wear, and it was rightfully directed at him. Not only was this the second time Anders had singlehandedly made Hawke cry (according to Isabela) - and it looked like Varric was only restraining himself for the sake of their fearless leader - but he had come within mere moments of his death and the two misfits standing over him were equally overjoyed to see him alive and livid about his poor judgment.

“How could you be so stupid, Blondie?!” Varric spat out heatedly. “You almost died! It took Aveline and Merrill two days to break the seals on the door and bust it down, and now Daisy’s exhausted to the point she can’t even stand. You’re damned lucky I like you so much or I’d kill you myself just for being a dumbass.”

“I- Im sorry,” Anders managed weakly. “I didn’t want you to see me like this…” Hawke raised her hand and Anders braced for a slap that never came. When he braved opening his eyes again he saw a defeated look on Hawke’s face. It was then that he noticed a deep, fresh gash on her upper arm.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner. I should have known when you were gone for more than a few hours to ‘pick herbs’,” Hawke sobbed faintly. “I almost let you die.”

Words failing him, Anders reached out a hand to heal the simple wound, stringing together a simple enchantment, only for nothing to happen. He shook his head, his mind still fuzzy. He could remember Justice, and there was some small part of him lingering behind. Anders nearly burst into tears himself when he realized what had truly happened. His magic was gone, possibly for the rest of his existence, and the spirit had been utterly destroyed in the process. All that remained of Justice was a small fragment of memory.

His magic returned after only a week. Anders even went into the Chantry to say a prayer of thanks to a Maker he was not sure existed.

Anders spent the next two weeks apologizing to his friends, chiefly Hawke and Varric, sending more gifts and letters to Hawke than a man trying to woo her. She finally asked him to her home for dinner, just to catch him when he was free, to demand he stop sending things. He had even sent a vial of fireproof wax to Varric to use on his beloved crossbow, but the dwarf returned it with a bolt through his cloak and a terrifying warning that the next would hit his heart if he made him worry and Hawke cry like that again.

Anders chuckled darkly to himself. He should have known then, well before Isabela, that there was something more than simple friendship between the two. And they still danced around one another for almost a year after that.

He shook his head again to clear the memories and stood to stretch, deciding to retire to his room at Sebastian’s Kirkwall home, though he still felt a bit out of place there. Since the battle of Kirkwall, when Elthina fell by both mage and Templar hands and the Chantry had been left a pile of rubble, Sebastian had forsworn his vows. Though he maintained his deeply religious nature, he was no longer a brother, and not as terrified of giving into his baser desires. Anders guessed he felt rather lost with the Chantry in shambles, and without much direction otherwise, he had taken up the Vael crest and amassed a small army to retake his lands.

Anders walked through the Vael manor door, relieved to not have to greet the elf who tended the home and her exuberance. He simply did not feel like pretending to feel happy, or even content, this evening. Though he was, he supposed, if a bit bored. It was not too late yet, there would be plenty of time to catch a few hands of Wicked Grace and a few drinks at the Hanged Man.

Pushing aside the images of Orsino turning to blood magic, Meredith going insane from the lyrium sword, and a final confrontation no one was sure who ended, Anders’ mood perked up and he quickly stashed his things before leaving his lover’s home and heading to Lowtown. With just a little luck, he wouldn’t be asked for more intimate details of his relationship with Sebastian. But Anders knew he was more usually unlucky, and Isabela would have a time with him, while Fenris sat beside her impatiently, rolling his eyes. At least Varric, Hawke, and Merrill would be there to help make things a little less awkward. He was momentarily grateful that Sebastian was away, as Isabela wouldn’t get her best jibes in tonight.

Though he had to admit, seeing that wonderful blush on Sebastian’s face got him all kinds of hot and bothered.

**oOoOo**

“Hawke, Beautiful, you look amazing,” Varric assured his lover as they stood in the large ballroom of whichever Noble So-and-So they were being forced to visit with tonight. “Quit tugging at the dress, or everyone will think you’ve been to a bad tailor. I send a lot of business his way, so I get a good discount. Don’t want a bunch of nobles ruining that.”

Hawke’s mouth opened in mock disgust. “Varric!” she chastised, grinning despite herself.

“Come, now, Beautiful,” Varric replied, smoothly changing the subject, “You’ve still yet to meet the host of tonight’s gala. We’ll surely disappoint if we don’t hear them out. Though I don’t know why we have to bother. You should just eat all of their fancy meats and cheeses and then tell them ‘no’ as you walk out the door. And maybe throw in a thank you for good measure.”

Hawke snickered. “If only it were that easy,” she sighed. Varric took her hand and led her into a small alcove, where the host and hostess stood talking with the Seneschal.

Bran noticed Hawke and Varric approaching, and begrudgingly made introductions. If the nobles noticed, they never let on. “Viscount Hawke, this is Lord and Lady Elspeth. They are funding a trade route with the dwarves of Orzammar, and under King Bhelen’s rule, trying to reintegrate the surface dwarves back into their lineages.”

Varric’s ears perked up at this, and he was suddenly curious as to the approach these nobles were taking. And more importantly, what was in it for them? “That sounds like a divine plan,” he began, quickly engaging the lord in conversation. Hawke tried not to yawn with boredom, and politely accepted a tour of the house and grounds from the lady.

Lady Elspeth was a chatty older woman, and happily rambled on about the house and grounds, and what her husband and children had accomplished. Hawke really did not mind the snooty parties, it was the forced advertising the hosts always smothered her with that bothered her. She was still trying to decide if she was grateful to have not grown up noble.

Lady Elspeth’s older son was a minor lord living in Tantervale, apparently responsible for a small number of charity organizations meant to assist children and refugees. Her daughter was married to some other noble’s son, and from the sounds of it only good for childbearing. _Well, if that’s what_ she _wants to do with her life,_ Hawke mused to herself, shrugging her shoulders, _I suppose that’s okay then_.

“What of your younger son? Eric, you said was his name?” Hawke inquired politely. She found very soon after her installation as Viscount that people loved to brag on their children.

Lady Elspeth’s face fell immediately, and her eyes began to water. Hawke almost regretted asking. “He is no longer with us,” she said softly, obviously struggling to keep from crying. “He fell in the battle of Kirkwall. He was a mage in the Circle, and went with the others to fight in the Chantry…”

Hawke fought down a sigh. She just _had_ to open her big mouth. Instead she awkwardly patted the lady’s arm and offered an equally awkward smile. This seemed to do the trick, and Lady Elspeth quickly returned to her tour.

Varric finally hunted the two ladies down some time later, finding them in the house’s gardens, Hawke deeply engaged in conversation about the gardens and the different foliage growing there. He gently reminded Hawke that it was time for them to depart, and politely exchanged goodbyes with the lord and lady.

Hawke took his hand in hers as they descended the steps. “Did you know that her garden began as three juniper bushes, some sunflowers, and a bed of pansies? It was a wedding gift from her father. And now look at it. Apparently Lord Elspeth adds to it each year as an anniversary gift. It was simply stunning.”

Varric chuckled. “It was stunning. But it pales in comparison to my lovely escort for the evening.”

Hawke rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, Varric! You’re going to make me blush.”

Varric’s laugh was deep and rich. “Well, it’s generally not considered polite for me to make you pant and scream my name in public, so I’ll settle for a blush.”

Hawke laughed with him, tugging him along behind her eagerly as they traveled the last short distance to the Hawke Estate.

**oOoOo**

“Hawke, this is the second time this week you’ve had clothes altered. What’s going on?” Isabela asked from her seat at Hawke’s desk. She eyed her friend closely. “And you’ve not had a drink at all recently. I know the swill at the Hanged Man is awful, but even you’re good for a drink or two occasionally…”

Hawke turned to face Isabela just in time to see the pirate’s face light up with recognition, the seamstress taking her measurements oblivious to their conversation.

“You’re knocked up!” Isabela exclaimed with glee. “Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid you were going to run off and become a cloistered sister or something.”

Hawke tilted her head back and laughed with mirth. “Heavens, no! I’m only just beginning to settle in as Viscount. I certainly don’t need anything else to worry over.”

“You’re going to have your hands full soon,” Isabela quipped. “So, when were you planning on telling everyone?”

Hawke sighed contemplatively. “We were thinking tomorrow night. Everyone is planning to get together for Wicked Grace, so it seemed like as good a time as any.”

Isabela shrugged noncommittally. “I guess I can wait until then. But not a moment longer, so you better spill tomorrow night!”

Hawke sighed. Only Isabela would do something like that. She laughed softly. “Alright, alright, tomorrow for sure. And if not you can stand on the roof of the tallest building and shout it to everyone who walks by.”

With the most serious expression Hawke had ever seen Isabela muster, the alluring and decidedly not-pregnant rouge replied, “That’s a very bad idea, Hawke. You’re not only a noble now, you’re also the Viscount. Can you imagine the repercussions of an announcement like that just carelessly flung about? Varric will have to hire the Red Iron mercenaries instead of the urchins from Darktown.”

Hawke gaped at her friend. She had always known there was a business- and good sense-side to Isabela, but this was the first she had seen it. Instead of a verbal reply she just nodded her head.

Being naturally vivacious, Isabela broke the morose mood with a giddy, “But, that doesn’t mean that our friends can’t all celebrate and enjoy the good news. I just hope it’s a girl. So much I can teach her.”

“I guess word will get around soon enough, anyway. Might as well enjoy it while we can,” Hawke smiled back.

**oOoOo**

Their usual Saturday meeting for Wicked Grace was just beginning. Varric peered about the room, noting the newcomer to their little gang. He was a lanky, scrawny elf sitting with Merrill, his typical black hair and unusually dark skin seeming odd in the crowded suite. Naturally, Varric knew all about Alwin that his employees could find. And a little more. He knew that Alwin started trying to woo Merrill not much more than a month ago, he worked in the Bone Pit as one of numerous employees for Hawke (217 to be exact), and had once been a member of another group of Dalish Elves from Starkhaven, but was taken to the Circle when captured at the age of 14. Like many mages in the Circle, Alwin left the gallows after the battle in Kirkwall, and, because the Dalish nearby had already moved on, went to work at the Bone Pit. An odd job for a mage to take up, but a job no less.

The hard labor was doing nothing to build up a muscular frame for the poor elf. But Merrill was obviously smitten, and if Daisy liked him, Varric was going to give him the third degree before he okayed it.

Varric unconsciously flexed his arm, comparing it to Alwin’s smaller build. For a lanky, lean elf the kid had some big guns. Maybe swinging a pickax in the mines was paying off after all.

“All that exercise you’ve been getting with Hawke looks like it’s working out for you,” Isabela trilled from her usual seat to Varric’s right side. She stared at his still flexed arm and gave him an exaggerated wink as she added, “I can see that she’s also benefiting from your workout.”

For the first time in many years of memory Varric blushed a deep crimson from embarrassment. He figured he turned red as roses, at least, since Anders shot him a concerned look. “Are you feeling well, Varric? Isabela didn’t spike your drink or anything did she?”

“Now, Anders, why would I do something like that?” Isabela retorted, feigning offense.

“Because you’ve been trying to bed the dwarf since you met him, and now that he’s dating Hawke you’re all the more jealous. I can just never tell of who, Varric or Hawke,” Anders replied with a smirk.

“Both, really,” Isabela shrugged. “They won’t invite me for a threesome.” She crossed her arms so that her breasts were even more enhanced than typical, and drew her lips into a fantastic pout. Both Anders and Varric let out a deep belly laugh when Fenris grabbed her roughly and kissed her hard on the lips.

“You know how much I hate it when you say things like that,” he mumbled when he finally pulled away.

Isabela resumed her pout. “I only do it because I get such a sexually charged reaction from you, Love,” she whined.

Varric cleared his throat loudly before Fenris could do more than roll his eyes. “Blondie, go get Corff to send up a round of drinks,” he said, tossing a few gold pieces to the mage, “And tell him to give us the usual.”

“So, that’s stale ale for everyone except Fenris, who’d like Aggregio, and to tell any inquiring minds that we’re not here, we all died in a horrible mine mishap?” Anders clarified unnecessarily.

“You got it.” The dwarf gave a wink to Anders.

Isabela grilled the new kid as the group waited for their drinks and the latecomers (always Aveline and Donnic) to arrive.

“So,” the sultry pirate began, “What’s your favorite undergarment for our dear, sweet kitten?”

Varric briefly wished his skin were darker, since Alwin’s complexion almost concealed the blush entirely. “Well,” the elf hesitated, “she does have a pair of red silky knickers I quite like.”

“You do?” Merrill perked up. “I wasn’t sure if you did, you ripped them off me so fast last night… just discarded them to the ground like a bit of rubbish.”

Alwin laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess I just couldn’t wait any longer,” he said, shrugging abashedly. “You’re just so amazing.”

“Oh, Merrill! Don’t tell me you let someone else deflower you,” Isabela pouted. “I was supposed to be your first.”

“Aw, Daisy,” Varric started when Merrill’s cheeks began to burn, “Don’t worry about that. Men like sexy underthings, and Rivaini just needs new ideas.”

“Thank you very much, Varric,” Merrill replied to the table. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“I’m sorry, Merrill, I didn’t intend to embarrass you,” Alwin said, leaning toward Merrill and kissing her forehead lightly, “but you just look so amazing in them.”

Finally making her presence known – her trip to heave in the lavatory apparently escaping everyone’s notice or concern – Hawke laughed lightly as Norah brought in drinks for everyone.

“Varric is particularly fond of a pair that he says reminds him of his two favourite women, myself and Bianca,” she told Merrill with a shrug and a pat on the back. “They’re kind of an awful colour, and I think he’s joking about liking them, but I can’t bring myself to toss them, just in case he’s serious.”

Varric smiled. Hawke always seemed able to put the young elven mage at ease.

“Hawke won’t be needing that,” Varric told Norah politely when she made to place a second drink in front of Varric’s seat, “Give that one to the new kid.” Norah gave Varric a mean look but obliged his request. When she was gone Merrill piped up.

“But, Varric, that’s awfully mean of you. Why can’t Hawke have a drink? She’s plenty old enough to be drinking, isn’t she? And I think she’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions about what she eats or drinks,” she asked, her natural innocence and naivety lending her voice its sweetness.

Hawke’s light laugh echoed about the crowded room. “Shall we tell them now, Varric?” she asked her dwarven companion, upon whose lap she sat. He just shrugged in answer, while Anders and Isabela shared a grin that barely contained their excitement. “I can’t drink, Merrill,” Hawke said, smiling at the elf in question, “because Varric is going to be a father.”

“With whom?” the elf replied innocently.

“With Hawke, Daisy. Hawke is pregnant,” Varric smiled his fatherly smile he reserved just for the elf and for the younger Hawke sister.

Merrill let out the most adorable squeal of excitement Varric had ever heard as she ran around the table to hug both him and Hawke tightly. “Oh, congratulations! I’m so excited for you. It’s going to be such a lovely adventure. Oh, I know, I can be your midwife. I helped Keeper Marathari deliver several babies when I was still with the clan. This is going to be so exciting!”

Hawke laughed happily, Merrill’s attitude infectious. “Thank you, Merrill, but Anders will be my physician. I’ll be certain to have him ask for you if we run into any trouble, though, okay?”

“Oh, it’s so exciting. I just can’t wait. I hope it’s a girl. She’ll be so beautiful, just like her mother,” Merrill was still sing-songing happily while she walked back to her seat.

“Congratulations,” Aveline smiled.

“Congratulations, indeed,” Fenris offered, a genuine smile on his lips. “Perhaps someday we’ll bring our own young one into the world.”

Isabela’s shock brought such a round of uproarious laughter from the small crowd that further congratulations were forgotten for several long moments.

“But,” Aveline began, “ _Is_ it Varric’s?”

“Aveline!” Isabela chastised. “How could you be so rude? Of course it’s Varric’s baby. Right, Hawke?”

Aveline looked duly ashamed. “I only meant because she’s human and he’s a dwarf, I wasn’t sure it was entirely possible.”

“All I know is it damn well better be,” Varric laughed. “At least I’m pretty sure the only other contender is Rivaini, who might have spiked Hawke’s drink. And well, you know, I don’t think she could get Hawke like this.”

He and Hawke did share a sigh of relief when Anders stepped in. “It most decidedly is, Aveline. Though uncommon, humans and dwarves share enough similar genetic code to produce a healthy, happy baby. And the magical block the baby is putting off matches everyone’s favourite dwarf perfectly.”

“I see. I’m sorry to have been so rude,” Aveline apologized.

“It’s alright. It wasn’t something I had ever thought could happen, either,” Hawke replied nonchalantly. “It was quite a surprise for us, as well.”

“Well, then. In honor of your celebration, and as an apology for my wife’s outburst, the next round is on me,” Donnic offered. Aveline blushed and mumbled another apology.

“Apology accepted,” Varric agreed. “The best drink is a free one, I always say.”

**oOoOo**

“Ugh,” a blond man traveling with a company of about twenty other Wardens complained loudly as he lay on his very lumpy and incredibly uncomfortable pallet on the ground inside his tent. “I don’t miss this. Not at all. That’s the one thing I love about being in the palace. I have a bed to sleep in. A nice, comfy bed.”

“Oh, Alistair,” his female companion smiled. “I think there’s more to like about the palace than just a bed.”

“Well, there is this unbelievably beautiful noblewoman who still thinks I’m worth lying with in it. You might have heard of her. She goes by the name ‘Elissa’. Very lovely woman, she,” Alistair replied with his usual smirk and wink. (1)

Elissa could not hold back a soft laugh. “I’ll just be glad when we’ve made it to Kirkwall. As long as we get there before ‘the Divine’. This trip is taking much longer than I anticipated. And I’d rather have sex in a bed. Nine or so years ago the cot in your tent was perfectly suitable. But now…”

“But now, while I will still ultimately respect your wishes, I’m just going to pout a lot more until you give in. Because I know that when I kiss you right here,” Alistair’s voice dropped to a whisper as he spoke, kissing her shoulder just below her neck, “you get just as turned on as me. And when I do this,” he continued, trailing a line of soft kisses downward toward her breasts.

“Sometimes I wish I could hate you,” Elissa replied laughingly.

When both were redressed only in their smallclothes, a loud, rumbling commotion shook the ground beneath them.

“Commander!” a man shouted from across the camp, interrupting her next words, “Commander Theirin, darkspawn have been spotted nearby!”

“Nathaniel, please, it’s just Elissa to you,” she called back, still after the Howe to just refer to her informally.

She turned to face Alistair as they put on their armor and sighed. “I almost wish I’d never let you talk me into being the Warden-Commander…”

“You killed an Archdemon. What’s a few more darkspawn?” Alistair offered amusedly.

**oOoOo—RN—oOoOo**

**Notes:**

**1** – I prefer to use the default names for characters like Hawke and the Warden from Origins. I also try to leave the details of their appearance to the reader, because my Hawke has long, bright red hair and purple eyes, but someone else’s Hawke might have short, cropped blonde hair and natural blue eyes. I will do the same with the Warden, though she will be Elissa Cousland (the default noble female), and she will have become queen alongside Alistair (which you probably figured out already, but just in case). As far as if specific clothes or something are relevant, I will detail that.

Also, tell me your opinion on boy/girl, and who the baby would favor. :)


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